Wild Persimmons

When I was four years old my parents gave me a "walking" doll almost as tall as I was, but the doll was used, dirty, and naked. It was the only gift I received that Christmas. It would not walk not matter how Mother dragged it's broken body along. Mother kept jerking on me too, trying to make me interact with the repulsive doll but I would not. Father thought for a moment then said brightly, “I have something for you.” He gave me a tiny assembly kit for an expensive toy train engine which he had bought for himself. I was interested, but it was too complicated, I had no tools, and anyway he soon took it back for himself. Fifty years ago that was called being an Indian Giver. I remember wandering off into woods behind the house where I found a couple of wild persimmons clinging to the cold branches of a shrubby tree. I had never seen persimmons before. They were a pretty soft, mottled orange against the white, browns and grays of winter. I smelled the sweet sticky persimmons, knew that they were good, and so I ate them.

The Color Of Wild Persimmons

by Annmarie Throckmorton 2022